


One Good Thing

by Lush_Specimen



Series: Dratchet War Stories [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Rescue, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-02-08 17:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18628198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lush_Specimen/pseuds/Lush_Specimen
Summary: Deadlock joined the Decepticons the first chance he got. They gave him a place, a purpose, a direction to channel his rage. While he would happily forget his entire miserable existence in the Dead End before the war, there was one bright memory that he cherished above all else. The shining red and white armor and gentle hands of a stubborn medic who saved his life when the world accounted him for nothing.Their paths cross again when Ratchet is taken prisoner by the brutal commander Deadlock was sent to assist. Deadlock resolves to use every weapon at his disposal to save the one good thing left in the universe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【救漂救】宝贵的唯一](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19447981) by [AprilCygnus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AprilCygnus/pseuds/AprilCygnus)



> I am re-reading my IDW collection and just finished the Drift Origins & Empires. So I'm in the mood for some Deadlock/Ratchet!

Lightning flashed across the pitch-dark sky half a second before a frame-rattling crash of thunder. Deadlock canted his finials back. The tingling electricity in the atmosphere danced on his plating creating a bluish glow along the edges of his shoulder armor. Wreathed in the soft light, he appeared like an eldritch being, drifting silently across the desolate terrain strewn with scattered corpses. 

Grateful that the order to regroup came ahead of the storm, he carefully made his way, hands hovering near his holstered pistols. Despite the eerie calm, Autobot stragglers could be lurking anywhere. Turmoil led the fight over this same Primus forsaken spit of land for weeks now, never gaining any ground. Now with the monsoon season upon them, every night brought wicked electrical storms. The relentless rains turned the battlefield into a treacherous hellscape of thick mud and deep pools. 

With Megatron focusing all of his efforts to overthrow Iacon, he couldn’t afford to pay much attention to these small skirmishes in the outlands. There might not be much energon left in that nearby mine, but Megatron would do anything to get it before Optimus. To keep moving towards their ultimate victory, the Decepticon army needed all the resources they could scrounge together. While Turmoil seemed more interested in simply inflicting pain on as many Autobots as possible, Megatron wanted results. Which is why Megatron sent Deadlock. 

He had his orders: Assassinate the Autobot commander allowing Turmoil’s band of butchers to take control of the energon mine and return to Iacon as fast as possible. Unfortunately, his mission dragged on much longer than anticipated. The torrential rain and inescapable mud complicated things significantly. After another unsuccessful hunt, he contemplated advising Megatron to abandon this entire ill-fated endeavor. If they focused all of their limited resources on capturing Iacon, they could return to this wasteland in a different season with more organized troops and simply take the mine. 

The thick cloud cover darkened and the wind picked up. Thunder rumbled like a ravenous beast, prowling to devour the unwary. Deadlock growled when the edge of the huge crater he was circumventing crumbled and he tumbled down the steep wall into the mire. He waded through the muck, spitting a string of curses that would curdle motor oil as the mud seeped into his joints. Clawing his way out of the pit, Deadlock’s shoulders sagged with relief when the dim lights of their makeshift encampment finally glowed on the horizon. 

Deadlock stalked around the far end of camp, eschewing the main barracks. He hoped to find some solitary shelter under the wings of their transport craft all the while wishing he was back in Iacon, fighting on the true front. He joined the Decepticons to make a difference in the world, but slogging through the mud for a few pitiful scraps of energon felt like a monstrous waste of time. Tomorrow, when he made his report to Megatron, he would find a more eloquent way to tell him just that. 

But that was tomorrow. Surviving years of combat on the front lines had taught him not to think too far into the future. Right now, all he wanted was some warm fuel and a quiet dry corner to dig the mud out of his seams in peace. Knowing the command structure of this particular battalion, he was unlikely to get either. 

The first drops of rain pattered on his armor just as he drew near to the lights. A pained scream tore through the camp. Deadlock rolled his optics. It sounds like Turmoil nabbed another hapless Autobot to torture. So much for peace and quiet. 

“UNHAND ME!” 

Deadlock’s finials perked up and his spark froze. There was something hauntingly familiar about the gruff confidence in that voice. It couldn’t be. Not out here of all places. 

“PUT ME DOWN, YOU BRUTE!” 

That wasn’t fearful plea but a command full of righteous anger. When the ferocity of that shout was met with harsh laughter, curiosity began to tug at Deadlock’s spark. 

“I CAN STILL SAVE HIM!” 

That sealed it. Deadlock had to at investigate. He abandoned his search for shelter and crept through the downpour towards the commotion. Keeping to the shadows, Deadlock flattened himself out on the top of a small ridge overlooking the base camp. He grimaced as his chest sunk into the mud and steadily increasing rain drummed on his back. 

Turmoil stood near the edge of a disheveled canopy with his back to him, surrounded by a handful of his more sadistic followers. He held his smaller Autobot prisoner aloft, iron grip crushing his shoulder armor. The metallic scent of freshly spilled energon mingled with that of driving rain and wet earth. Deadlock couldn’t quite see, but the flash of red and white paint visible around Turmoil’s hulking form nearly stopped his spark. 

“You should start worrying about yourself!” Turmoil laughed. He armed his weapon, aiming it at another battered Autobot crumpled at his feet. “His troubles are almost over. Yours, on the other hand, are just beginning.” 

“This is ridiculous!” The Autobot softened his tone, changing tactics in an attempt to appeal to Turmoil’s non-existent sense of compassion. “He doesn’t have to die here!” 

“No.” Turmoil agreed with his prisoner. “He doesn’t. But he most certainly will. And so will you.” 

Deadlock winced when he got a better look at the damaged bot. He hated to agree with Turmoil, but that poor idiot was already fading away. The dimming light of his spark flickered sporadically through his ruined chest plate. What little remained of his torn orange wings had already gone gray at the edges. At this rate, he wouldn’t live to see the end of this conversation let alone another day. 

“Look. If you just put me down-” 

“Do you hear that?” Turmoil shouted to his audience. “He wants me to put him down!” His mocking tone drew another round of harsh laughter. With a ferocious speed that belied his large size, Turmoil spun around and slammed his prisoner into the ground. “Is that what you wanted?” 

Despite the unexpected burst of violence, the Autobot defiantly raised himself up on to his hands and knees. Undeterred by the ring of jeering soldiers towering over him, he slowly stood on trembling legs, spat out some mud, and wiped the energon off his chin with a smirk. “It’s a start.” 

Deadlock froze, crimson optics widening in pure terror. It was Ratchet. The familiar red and white medic’s armor that so frequently appeared in his dreams was splattered with mud and streaked with fresh energon. Deeps dents marred his chest plate, and the dim light reflected sharply on the bare metal edges of his crumpled shoulder. His bright blue optics shone with stern kindness edged with pain. Despite his battered condition, Deadlock would recognize him anywhere. His initial curiosity rapidly escalated through fear into white hot rage. Turmoil dared to lay his hands on the one good thing left in this entire universe. 

Moving completely on instinct, Deadlock whipped out his sniper rifle, loaded it, and aimed it directly at Turmoil’s head. Fury flared in his spark. His finger moved to the trigger. Turmoil would drop dead before he could touch Ratchet again. He would kill every last Decepticon in this base. Not one of them could stop him. He bared his fangs and braced himself for his weapon’s recoil. 

Lightning lit up the sky and an incredible crash of thunder stunned everyone, mercifully silencing the cruel taunts flung at the injured Autobot. Deadlock paused. As much as his energon boiled to rain down vengeance upon them all, he needed to protect Ratchet first. Since Turmoil and his comrades all had powerful alt modes like tanks and mining equipment, they bore especially heavy armor. If Deadlock couldn’t kill him with one shot, he still might hurt Ratchet again. 

Running through multiple scenarios in his head, Deadlock made a snap decision. He shifted his aim to the dying Autobot. Saving Ratchet was his number one priority and his new plan didn’t allow room for any distractions. He knew Ratchet would never abandon an injured comrade so he had to remove him from the equation. Using the rolling thunder to mask the report of his rifle, Deadlock pulled the trigger and hit his mark. The Autobot’s spark flared out and what remained of a once vibrant orange paint scheme faded quietly to muted grays. 

“No.” Ratchet gasped, his crystal blue optics widening in anguished shock. When he rushed towards the fallen flier, Turmoil blocked his path. Ducking under his grasp, Ratchet flung himself down in the mud beside the dead Autobot. He plunged his hands into his graying chest and frantically tried to piece together his shattered spark casing, to no avail. 

“Sorry, doctor,” Turmoil loomed over him. “It looks like you lost another patient.” 

“I could have saved him.” Ratchet whispered, staring at his hands as the dead flier’s cold energon ran down his fingers. Clenching his fists, Ratchet leapt up with a roar. He swung at Turmoil with all of his might, punching the unsuspecting commander right in the face. Shaking his head, the speed of Ratchet’s attack momentarily stunned the Decepticon. A veteran of countless battles, Turmoil quickly recovered and easily caught Ratchet’s fist before he could land another blow. 

“My! Aren’t you a feisty one?” Turmoil snarled, scuffing off the red paint marks that Ratchet’s knuckles left on the side of his faceplate. He tightened his vise-like grip. The squeal of rending metal rose above the sound of pouring rain as he leisurely began to crush Ratchet’s fingers, bending his wrist backwards against the joint. Ratchet hissed in pain. “I hope you enjoyed your lucky shot, because that won’t happen again.” 

“TURMOIL!” Deadlock shouted. He had crept down from his perch unnoticed, and several bots jumped in surprise at his sudden appearance in their midst. Anger raged inside him. As if tormenting Ratchet wasn’t enough, he had the brazen audacity to hurt Ratchet’s hands. Deadlock could still feel those hands helping him sit up on the worst day of his life, rubbing gentle circles on his back, patting his shoulder with kind support. Deadlock’s engine rumbled. He flexed his fingers to keep them from reaching for his guns. 

“Deadlock?” Turmoil lightened the pressure on Ratchet’s arm. “How nice of you to join us.” 

“What the hell is going on here?” Deadlock growled, plating flaring. 

“Just having a bit of fun.” Turmoil shrugged. “Never pegged you for the squeamish type.” His casual insult drew a smattering of nervous laughter from his troops. 

“Humph. Hardly.” Deadlock crossed his arms and narrowed his crimson optics. “I’m just trying to decide if you’re blind or just stupid.” He spat the last word, making it more of an insult. The corner of his mouth curled into a predatory grin, revealing the sharp tips of his fangs. 

“What are you talking about?” Turmoil muttered. 

“Your prisoner wears the medic’s insignia. Any idiot could see that. Medics are not to be targeted. Megatron’s orders. If any are captured, they are to be turned over to Decepticon high command for use in the prisoner exchange program.” 

“So what? I’m in charge here. It’s not like Megatron will ever find out.” 

“Won’t he? I’m scheduled to give him a full mission report tomorrow morning. Along with my recommendations for the viability of this operation.” 

“Are you challenging my authority?” Turmoil turned on Deadlock, violently tossing Ratchet aside. 

Deadlock inwardly winced when Ratchet hit the ground hard and rolled towards the edge of their shelter. He felt Ratchet’s blue optics studying him and the wild hope that perhaps he recognized him sent a shiver through his systems. Deadlock quickly quashed that hopeless fantasy. Although he still possessed a speedster’s frame, he had augmented his chassis with heavy armor and a darker color scheme. Even his once gold optics burned bright red. Ratchet couldn’t possibly realize that Deadlock was the same wayward bot that he once saved when no one else cared. It didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered except getting Ratchet out of here alive. 

“It depends.” Deadlock purred. “Are you actively disobeying a direct order from Megatron?” He stalked around Turmoil like a predator circling his prey, moving with a casual mesmerizing grace. He knew his reputation as a consummate killer and wielded it as effectively as any other weapon in his arsenal. 

Out of the corner of his optic, he noticed Ratchet slowly scooting backwards, out of their lighted perimeter. Deadlock gave him the slightest nod and grinned at the medic’s resilience. Ratchet never did know when to quit. After all, he never gave up on a certain overdosed addict that he could have easily let slip away. All he had to do was hold Turmoil’s attention for a little longer and Ratchet could escape. Then he could blame Turmoil for losing him. If it worked out, it was a win-win situation. He was taking a dangerous chance, but Deadlock always loved gambling. 

“Of- of course not!” Turmoil sputtered. Sensing a serious fight brewing, several of his soldiers had begun to quietly slink away. “You’re the one causing a problem!” 

“Oh? Is that so?” Deadlock decided to go all in. Maybe if he could provoke Turmoil enough, he could justify killing him in front of his own troops. “That’s a strange way to look at things. Since I’M the one following orders, and YOU are blatantly flouting them. Well. At least you answered my question from earlier. You really are just stupid.” Ratchet had just disappeared over the low ridge into the storm. Deadlock smiled. 

“How DARE you!” Turmoil shouted, stepping forward and arming his cannon. 

“Finally!” Deadlock instantly crouched into an attack posture and drew two of his guns. He rested his fingers lightly on the triggers. “Please. I’m begging you. Take one more step towards me. Just give me a reason. It will be so much easier to explain your death to Megatron if you make the first move.” 

Anger flared across Turmoil’s gold visor, but he hesitated. Deadlock’s taut cables twitched. If Turmoil didn’t make a move soon, he’d just kill him anyway. And in the unlikely event that anyone else objected, he’d kill them too. Now that Ratchet had escaped, he didn’t have anyone else to worry about. As long as Ratchet was safe, not even his own death mattered. 

“Think your power is a match for my speed?” Deadlock taunted him. “Let’s find out!” By now, the group of soldiers had silently dispersed, leaving the two of them alone to settle their differences. A wicked grin spread across Deadlock’s face. Turmoil’s hesitation meant one of two things: either he was actually concerned about getting caught disobeying Megatron’s orders or he didn’t think he could win. Whatever reason it was, Deadlock had him right where he wanted him. 

Lightning flashed. Deadlock waited. Turmoil shifted. Deadlock tensed, relishing the sensation of absolute power that came before the kill. He held Turmoil’s life in his hands. The weight of his finger on the trigger defined the line between life and death. 

Just as he prepared to strike, a piercing howl shattered the tense hush that had settled over the base camp. Deadlock and Turmoil instantly straightened up and turned their attention to the dark battlefield, their quarrel abandoned. They easily slipped back into the roles of commander and soldier in the face of a common foe. 

“What was that?” Turmoil muttered, moving to Deadlock’s side as they both prepared to confront some unforeseen monster. 

Optics widening with horrible realization, Deadlock gasped. “Where are the Terrorcons?” 

Turmoil quickly surveyed their now deserted arena. “And where is our medic?” 

“Oh no...” Deadlock whispered. “No. No. No.” 

“I have a feeling the answer to both questions is the same.” Turmoil thumped Deadlock's shoulder. “Tell you what, if there’s anything left, you can have him.” 

His anger at Turmoil bled away as Deadlock rushed towards the edge of base camp. The rising fear that all his efforts to save Ratchet were for naught threatened to overwhelm him. “HUN-GARR!” He yelled so loud, his vocal processor crackled. “ARE YOU OUT THERE?” 

“What?” Came a muffled reply out of the darkness. “I’m busy.” 

“HAUL YOUR TAIL IN HERE RIGHT NOW!!” 

“Aww!” Hun-Garr moaned. A few seconds later he loped over the small ridge in his monstrous two-headed reptilian alt mode, clawed feet sinking deep into the mud. One set of jaws clamped down on the leg of a rather irate red and white Autobot. As he dragged Ratchet along, the other head jabbered incessantly. “I found him fair and square. He’s not a Decepticon. Can I eat him? Please! Please! Please! I’m starving! One energon cube a day isn’t enough for me. What if I share him with Rippersnapper and Cutthroat? Would that be okay?” 

Seeing Ratchet alive, Deadlock almost smiled, not a predator’s grin full of fangs but something softer and more genuine. Ratchet stopped struggling for a moment when he turned his blue optics towards Deadlock. Although he might have imagined it, Deadlock thought he saw a flash of relief wash over his weary face. Maybe he did recognize him after all. 

“HA!” Turmoil barked. He shoved Deadlock towards the Terrorcon. “Go ahead. YOU tell him he’s going hungry tonight.” 

Deadlock flattened his finials back and ground his teeth. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to remember why he decided not to kill everyone. “No, you can’t eat him. There are rules. Medics are off-limits.” 

Hun-Garr’s fangs dug deeply into Ratchet’s leg as he held his quarry tightly. He curled his other neck around close to Ratchet’s face and snapped his jaws. “Can I eat him just a little?” 

“No. You may not!” Ratchet punched him right in the snoot and folded his arms. “Not even a little.” 

Hun-Garr whimpered and pawed at his injured face but bit down even harder with head that held Ratchet. Vibrant pink energon welled up around the puncture wounds, prompting a grimace from the medic. 

“ENOUGH!” Deadlock roared. “Let him go!” 

Hun-Garr reluctantly lowered his head but paused when Turmoil stepped forward. 

“In case you’ve forgotten, this operation is under my command.” Turmoil glared at Deadlock. “Hun-Garr, drop the prisoner in one of the artillery craters on the edge of camp.” 

“Those fill up with mud during these storms, and he’s got open wounds.” Deadlock rounded on him. “Orders say-” 

“I give the orders here.” Turmoil cut him off with a wave. “If he survives until morning, you can take him to Megatron when you report in. And if he doesn’t, then Hun-Garr can eat him for breakfast.” 

This news greatly pleased Hun-Garr. He flashed an unsettling saurian grin and, with a wag of his spiked tail, dragged Ratchet back into the rain. Ratchet cast one last resigned glance at Deadlock. A sad smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he shrugged his uninjured shoulder as if to say, “you did all you could.” Deadlock clenched his fists, the fiery rage rising inside him once more. He would get Ratchet out of this situation at any cost. 

“Now you listen-” Deadlock snarled. 

“NO. YOU listen.” Turmoil jabbed a finger still dripping with Ratchet’s energon at Deadlock’s chest. “I appreciate your ruthlessness. It’s what makes you such a good Decepticon. While I admire that vicious confidence, don’t you EVER think about openly challenging me again. I don’t care if you are one of Megatron’s favorites, I will tear you apart.” 

Deadlock bristled and smacked Turmoil’s hand away. It took every last ounce of his willpower to refrain from ripping that arm off and beating him to death with it. 

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Turmoil chuckled. “You’ve just earned yourself double night watch duty. Since you deprived him of a snack, you can finish Hun-Garr's shift. Then you can take my shift after that. Don’t worry, you should be back right in time for your report to Megatron. If you don’t fall in the mud, get lost in the storm, or stumble on a landmine. Now that would be a tragedy,” he added in a voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Glaring at Turmoil, Deadlock swallowed his protests. This punishment actually worked in his favor. Since he would be out all night, he would have plenty of time to rescue Ratchet and return him safely to the Autobots. Once he set out for the double shift, no one would even be looking for him until morning. 

“Whatever.” Deadlock huffed. “I need to resupply.” 

“Fine. Make it quick.” 

Deadlock turned away and stomped towards the supply room. He deliberately slowed his pace to mark where Hun-Garr took Ratchet. Once he had the general location memorized, he hurried on his way. Picturing Ratchet trapped in a muddy pit, his engine revved faster as the rain poured down harder. To his own surprise, he found himself muttering a silent prayer for Ratchet’s protection to a god he didn’t even believe existed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deadlock creates a distraction to keep the rest of the Decepticons occupied while he races to Ratchet's rescue. Despite the dire circumstances, he discovers that he may have underestimated the stubborn resilience of the Autobot medic.

Deadlock rummaged through the supply depot in the back of their transport ship. Grabbing plenty of ammo and a few extra magazines, he loaded all his weapons. Noticing a spool of lightweight cable rope, he took a fair length of that too. Numerous missions gone sideways had taught him that is always best to prepare for the unexpected. Next on his list were the medical supplies. 

He slipped down the dark hall and picked the lock on the medibay door. Deadlock snorted. Although it had been while since he needed to break in somewhere, it was so much easier than he had anticipated. He shrugged and popped open the supply cabinet. Unfortunately, there was less than he was hoping to find. They were so woefully understocked that he would definitely be recommending that Megatron call them all back to Iacon. Gathering several cubes of medical grade energon and a field repair patch kit, he tucked them away. 

Locking the medibay behind him, he turned towards the mess hall. Despite the late hour, Turmoil was sure to be there drowning his anger in his personal stash of engex. Deadlock accepted Turmoil’s all-night guard duty punishment because it served his own purposes, but he didn’t want that idiot to think he won some type of victory. 

The door swished open and Deadlock quickly scanned the mess hall. Sure enough, Turmoil and a handful of his buddies crowded around a table in the corner, sipping their dwindling supply of engex. Deadlock collected his nightly ration from the counter, eyeing the small serving with no small amount of skepticism. He finished it in one gulp and returned the empty glass. 

Deadlock licked his lips and sauntered right over to Turmoil’s table. All optics were on Deadlock as he strode towards his commander, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He hadn’t forgotten how he hurt Ratchet. Deadlock could weaponize anything, including his own good looks. Maybe he couldn’t put a bullet in Turmoil’s spark right now, but there were plenty of other ways to exact a little revenge. 

While everyone stared in silence, Deadlock reached right over Turmoil’s shoulder. He smirked with an intoxicating confidence as he plucked the glass of engex from his commander’s hand and knocked it back in one fluid motion. The triple filtered fuel burned with a pleasant fire and Deadlock slammed the empty glass on the table with a satisfied, “Aaah!” 

“What the hell? That was mine!” Turmoil growled. “Shouldn’t you be out on guard duty by now?” 

“Just leaving.” Deadlock winked, whirled away with mesmerizing grace, and waved over his shoulder. “If I’m going to work twice as hard as you, I’m going to drink twice as hard as you.” 

Turmoil sputtered, unable to form words. Whether it was complete shock or rising anger that scrambled his circuits, the reaction of his crew was only making it worse. Deadlock grinned, listening to them whisper behind his back as he stalked out of the mess hall. “Oh my god.” “That was so hot!” “I’d never have the bearings to do something like that!” “I think I’m in love.” 

Feeling particularly vindictive, Deadlock turned and mockingly blew them a kiss before stepping out into the storm. As the rain lashed his armor and the door slammed behind him, a loud crash echoed from the mess hall. Deadlock chuckled, wondering if one of them fainted or Turmoil spontaneously combusted. Either way, his little display would be the only topic of discussion all night. No one would even remember that they had an Autobot prisoner. 

Casting a quick glance at his surroundings to make sure that no prying eyes lurked in the shadows, Deadlock hurried to the huge artillery craters on the edge of camp. He peered into the first once, but it was empty. He ran through the rain to another one. Still nothing. Trying to calm the erratic rhythm of his pistons, a jolt of fear shot through him. What if the Terrorcons took Ratchet after all? None of them were in the mess hall. What if while he had been antagonizing Turmoil, they had been tearing Ratchet apart? Deadlock stopped himself before he spiraled out of control. Turmoil gave Hun-Garr a direct order. Whether through fear or loyalty, the Terrorcons never disobeyed orders. Ratchet had to be here somewhere. 

A wave of relief washed over him when he checked the next crater and saw something red and white huddled at the bottom. The gouges marks in the steep muddy walls twisted his spark. Despite his injuries, Ratchet must have tried to climb out repeatedly and slid back down every time. Lightning flashed again, illuminating the scene for a split second. Deadlock gasped. A pearlescent slick of energon floated on the water slowly filling the crater floor. Ratchet didn’t even flinch at the loud crack of thunder that followed the flash. 

Despite his rising panic, Deadlock didn’t dare call out for fear of attracting unwanted attention. He leapt over the rim and slid down to the unresponsive Autobot. Rain pattered loudly on his armor as he crept closer, but the medic still didn’t move. What if he was too late? Reaching out to tap his shoulder, Deadlock hesitated, frozen mid-gesture. He remembered Ratchet’s gentle touch so vividly. Deadlock wasn’t sure if he even knew how to be gentle. 

Before he could decide how to proceed, Ratchet leapt up all at once, grabbed his outstretched hand and wrenched it behind his back. Deadlock’s jaw dropped. The Autobot moved with more speed and strength than he would have never thought possible. Something sharp pressed against his throat. 

“Don’t move” 

“No problem.” Still in shock, Deadlock raised his free hand in a gesture of surrender. Ratchet had his arm pinned firmly but held him in a way that caused no pain. Deadlock had handshakes with fellow soldiers that hurt worse. “Where’d you get the weapon.” 

“Made it. Out of my broken shoulder. Thanks for asking.” 

“What are you gonna do?” After his initial surprise, Deadlock was starting to find this whole situation rather amusing. “Kill me?” 

“A bot your size? With this blade? Not likely. But I could easily slip into your neural cluster and paralyze you.” 

“Great. Then Turmoil could feed us both to Hun-Garr in the morning. At least he’ll get a good meal.” 

Ratchet dropped the blade and released his arm. He spun Deadlock around, gripped his shoulders, and stared into his optics. “YOU?!” 

“Yeah.” Deadlock chewed his lip, wondering if Ratchet meant “you - the Decepticon from earlier” or “you - the addict I saved years ago.” He longed to ask. 

“That was a hell of a chance you took!” Ratchet jabbed a finger at his chest. 

“Wait. What?!” Deadlock blinked. “I saved your life!” 

“Yeah. By challenging that hulking menace, who, I can only assume, is your commanding officer. I’ve seen how the Decepticon command structure works. He could’ve killed you!” 

“Could’ve killed ME?? He was definitely going to kill YOU!” Deadlock shouted. He never expected to get scolded. 

“You should really be more careful.” 

“But- You- I- I SHOULD BE MORE CAREFUL?!” Deadlock sputtered. “YOU are literally being held prisoner in an enemy camp filled with bots who either want to eat you because they are hungry or torture you to death for fun! But, CLEARLY, I need to be more careful!” 

“Glad we agree on something.” Ratchet nodded. 

“Ugh!” Deadlock moaned and tipped his head back to let the rain fall directly on his face. “What am I even doing here?” 

“That’s a good question.” Ratchet folded his arms and awkwardly shifted his weight, unintentionally calling attention to his patchy field repairs on Hun-Garr's bite wounds. Deadlock wasn’t sure how he was even able to ignite his welding torch in this storm. “Because if you’re here to take me in for the prisoner exchange, you might as well just shoot me now. I am NOT going through that again.” 

“What do you mean 'again'? Nevermind. No one is shooting anyone. I’m going to get you out of here. You don’t deserve this.” 

“Kid,” Ratchet softened, shifting his weight again while the rain ran in uneven rivulets down his torn armor. “No one deserves this.” 

“I don’t know about anyone else, but I know you deserve better. Come on.” Deadlock held out his hand. 

Ratchet eyed his hand suspiciously. 

“We don’t have much time.” 

“What the hell?” Ratchet sighed, accepting his hand with a slight smile that made Deadlock melt a little. “I’ve got nothing better to do.” 

“Great! Now hold on!” Deadlock swung Ratchet on to his back. 

“Whoa! Wait a minute!” Ratchet squirmed. “I am perfectly capable of-” 

“Of what?” Deadlock snickered. “Climbing out on your own? Yeah. I can tell. Quit moving around and hang on. I’ll have us out in a minute.” 

Ratchet continued to protest the entire time Deadlock clawed his way up the muddy slope, but he did stop squirming. When they reached the rim of the crater, Deadlock peered through the storm to make sure no one had followed him. The medic’s injured hand brushed lightly across Deadlock’s chest as he carefully set Ratchet of his own feet. Ratchet furrowed his brow but before he could voice his thoughts, Deadlock tugged him along. 

“Hurry! We need to get further away from the camp, then I can fix your patches.” 

“Oh? You’ll fix MY patches? I don’t think so!” Ratchet limped along after him. “I actually think they turned our pretty well considering the circumstances.” 

“I’m sure the Autobots will give you a medal for ‘It’s Pretty Good, I Guess’.” Deadlock snickered. 

“When you put yourself back together using nothing but your own broken armor for spare parts in a torrential thunderstorm, then you can laugh.” 

“Actually...” Deadlock slowed his pace and stared at the rippling patterns the falling rain made in the countless puddles. “The only time I was in desperate need of repair, someone else did it for me. Did a really good job too. I’m still not sure I deserved it.” He wanted to look at Ratchet to gauge his response to such a comment, but he couldn’t bring himself to lift his eyes of the mud in front of him. 

“You don’t have to earn kindness,” Ratchet said softly. Even without looking, Deadlock felt Ratchet reaching out to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s something that- Whoops!” 

Deadlock spun around just in time to catch him before he fell face first into the mud. 

“Thanks.” Ratchet rubbed the back of his helm. “Just clumsy, I guess.” 

Deadlock reluctantly let Ratchet go, watching as he took another step. He winced. Ratchet’s limp had become even more pronounced. At this point he was practically hopping on one leg. Flattening his finials back, Deadlock gathered all of his courage. He carefully sidled up to Ratchet and tentatively taking his hand, drew it across his shoulders. When Ratchet didn’t protest, he placed his other hand cautiously around his waist. 

“You don’t have to-” 

“A very wise and noble bot once told me,” Deadlock cut him off with a mischievous grin, “You don’t have to earn kindness.” 

“Touché.” Ratchet snorted. “Now I can’t argue with you without making myself look like an idiot.” Ratchet laughed and leaned heavily on Deadlock allowing him to bear most of his weight. 

Despite the storm and the overall misery of their situation, Deadlock burned this memory into his processor. He wanted to always remember Ratchet’s comfortable weight on his side, the way his frame rumbled with laughter, the way it made his spark feel so light. 

When another bolt of lightning lit the sky, the image of the energon slick shimmering on the water in Ratchet’s makeshift prison flashed through Deadlock’s mind. Mentally berating himself for not realizing it sooner, Ratchet had lost a lot of energon. He never mentioned feeling weak, but his pace had slowed significantly. They continued trudging through the rain together until Deadlock noticed a pile of tumbled rock that would serve as a decent shelter. He changed course, angling towards the overhanging cliffs. 

When they arrived at the rock outcropping, Deadlock eased Ratchet down off his shoulder. The sharp angles of the broken rocks provided a fair amount of shelter from the rain and the solid stone surface offered a welcome reprieve from the relentless mud. 

“I hope we’re not stopping on my account.” Ratchet’s tone remained light and confident in spite of the way he wearily settled on the ground. “I’m fine.” 

“Here.” Deadlock ignored Ratchet’s stoicism and handed him one of the medical-grade energon cubes that he had swiped from the medibay. “Drink this.” 

As Ratchet accepted the cube, some unfamiliar emotion played through his blue optics. Deadlock hunched his shoulders and turned away. “It’s not poisoned or anything...” 

“Oh, please,” Ratchet chuckled, taking a sip. “I know that. If you wanted to kill me, there have been plenty of opportunities before now. In fact, the easiest thing would have been to do nothing at all and I’d already be dead.” He took another drink and then offered the cube back to Deadlock with a gentle smile. “I’ll take another sip after you take a drink too.” 

Deadlock’s plating flared. “You’re the one with all the injuries. I don’t need any!” 

“Look, kid,” Ratchet grimaced and rubbed his crushed shoulder. “I’m a doctor. I know the subtle symptoms of constantly running on low fuel: slightly elevated temperature, uneven engine rhythm, sporadic dimness along the edge of your optics. They could put your picture next to the entry in the medical dictionary.” 

“But I stole- Brought! I brought that for you!” 

“Well. If it’s mine, then I can decide what to do with it and I would like to share it. With you.” 

Energon rushed to Deadlock’s cheeks. He wasn’t sure if the sudden flush of warmth was caused by embarrassment or something else. Since he joined the Decepticons, he consistently had more fuel than he ever had before. Considering the living conditions in the Dead End, running on a half tank was a luxury. Still, he couldn’t help but fell a little ashamed that Ratchet noticed. 

“We’re a little low on supplies but I’m used to it. Don’t worry.” 

“I’m not worried. I just want you to have some too.” Ratchet tilted his head to one side and raised the cube towards Deadlock. 

Deadlock’s resolve crumbled at Ratchet’s genuine concern. How could he still muster the energy to care about Deadlock when his own situation was so dire? He accepting the energon and took a tiny sip. He scrunched his face and stuck out his tongue. “Ugh! That’s terrible! Why didn’t you say it tasted like scrap? No wonder you don’t want to drink it all!” 

“Oh, come on!” Ratchet laughed again and Deadlock’s spark spun a little faster. “I’ve had much worse. It’s a lot denser than traditional energon so it will stay with you longer. Drink up.” 

“After you!” Deadlock pulled out another cube and the first aid patch kit. He handed both to Ratchet. “I have another one. We’ll drink them together.” 

“Ah, yes. Misery does love company.” Ratchet raised his cube. “A toast then: To terrible energon and a better tomorrow.” 

“I’ll drink to that.” Deadlock clinked his cube against Ratchet’s. 

They sipped their energon while the storm raged around them. Ratchet rifled through the patch kit. His field welds were holding up well so he didn’t want to redo anything, especially without a sufficient supply of supplemental energon. Although the wet conditions meant that rust likely festered in the wounds, it was more painful than dangerous in the early stages. Checking all the vials of fluids, he hummed in approval when he discovered a small gold one. 

“Just what I was hoping for: industrial-grade pain blockers.” 

“That stuff will knock you on your bumper.” Deadlock snickered. 

“Sure, if you take the whole thing.” Ratchet tipped just a few drops into his energon. “I only need a small dose to take the edge off and make moving a little easier until I can grind out these welds to properly clean the wounds. You need to be careful with this stuff. It’s very powerful and dangerously addictive.” 

“I know.” Deadlock winced and chewed his bottom lip. “I mean- That's what I heard! Not that I’ve ever chugged it or anything.” 

Ratchet narrowed his optics and glared at Deadlock over the rim of his cube as he took another drink like he knew exactly the type things he used to do. Deadlock focused on swallowing the disgusting medical energon so he didn’t have to meet Ratchet’s optics. 

He thought about that day so often. He had secretly hoped that injecting circuit speeders directly into his brain would kill him. What did he really have to live for anyway? Truth be told, he would have died if Orion hadn’t taken him to Ratchet. Not for the first time, he contemplated asking Ratchet if he remembered him. If he remembered saving an addict so far gone that a more practical medic might have considered him a waste of resources. He had been called far worse. Even he thought slipping offline in a drug-induced haze would have been a perfectly merciful end to his pitiful existence. 

That memory is so important to Deadlock. He treasured it like a precious jewel, one that he could take out and admire whenever he needed a reminder that good still exists in the universe. Just knowing that somewhere out there someone cared enough to help him like he really was special, kept him going when he had nothing else. He didn’t think he could take it if Ratchet didn’t remember. Although he had enough courage to throw himself into the fiercest of battles, he shrank away from asking this one question, contenting himself to sipping the awful energon in a companionable silence with Ratchet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Navigating the deserted battlefield, Deadlock has only one objective: get Ratchet to safety. When they come across another bot in distress, Ratchet is determined to help even as his own condition deteriorates. Deadlock finds himself reluctantly roped into another rescue mission.

As they finished their energon under the poor shelter provided by the broken rocks, another bolt of lightning lit up the sky followed by a crash of rolling thunder. A second sound shrilled after the thunder; something higher pitched, almost mournful, rising above the steady patter of the rain. 

“Did you hear that?” Ratchet asked, knocking back the rest of his energon in one gulp. 

“Yeah.” Deadlock stood up, pushing all emotional conflict aside. His hands automatically reached for his weapons as all his systems flipped into attack mode. Although the thunder stopped, the keening continued. 

“It sounds like someone is hurt.” Ratchet struggled to his feet. “We need to go check.” 

“WHOA! WE aren’t doing anything. I am going to have a look around. YOU will stay here.” 

“I’m not letting you go out there alone. Besides, if someone’s injured, I can help.” 

“You can barely stand!” 

“I’ll be fine, especially once the pain-blockers kick in.” 

“Look.” Deadlock pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his optics. How could someone so wonderful be so infuriatingly stubborn? “Just wait here, where it’s relatively safe. I’ll be right back.” 

Deadlock rushed out into the storm without pursuing the point any further. He hopped lightly from rock to rock, trying to gain a better vantage point to survey the surrounding area. Although he couldn’t see very far through the driving rain, the moaning sounded closer than he initially thought. He casually flipped the safeties off his guns. Whatever was out there, nothing else would hurt Ratchet tonight. 

He relished the solitary purpose of a hunt. There was no room for conflicting desires or confusing emotions. Always on the look-out for landmines, Deadlock kept a wary pace through the pockmarked battlefield. While he circumvented an area that seemed a likely spot for the hidden explosives, a loud howl rose from a nearby trench. 

Drawing his guns, Deadlock peered over the precipice. Hun-Garr's unwieldy monstrous alt mode thrashed around in a thick mire. The more he struggled, the deeper he sank. Deadlock rolled his optics and huffed, “Hun-Garr! What are you doing out here?!” 

“I went out to look for something else to eat since the Autobot is off limits.” Hun-Garr turned both of his saurian heads to look up at Deadlock. He sloshed helplessly in the mud and whimpered, “But I fell in here and got stuck!” 

“I can see that,” Deadlock snarled. While memory of those jagged fangs sinking into Ratchet’s leg played in his mind, he hefted the familiar weight of his guns in his hands. He wasn’t sure of the exact location of Hun-Garr's brain, but he would start by putting a bullet in each head at the same time. If that didn’t kill him, then he’d just empty both magazines, spraying bullets along the entire length of his reptilian body. Overkill never fails. 

“So? How are we going to get him out of there?” 

Shocked by the unexpected voice, Deadlock yelped and his plating twitched. Looking down, he saw a familiar red and white medic crouched at his side. 

“What the hell?! I told you to stay put!” 

“And I told you that I was coming. Any ideas how to extricate your buddy?” 

“First of all, he is NOT my buddy. Secondly, a short time ago, HE TRIED TO EAT YOU!” 

“While that is true, out of all the bad things that happened to me today, at least I could appreciate his motivation. He didn’t laugh as he tore my shoulder off. He didn’t think it was funny to knock me down over and over again. He didn’t pelt me with insults or taunt me as a friend died. He was just hungry. His symptoms of low fuel consumption are almost as bad as yours.” 

“Okay. Fair point. But he got himself into this mess, he can get himself out.” Deadlock folded his arms to indicate that was the end of discussion while Hun-Garr's whines escalated into full blown sobs. 

Ratchet narrowed his optics and glared at him. Before Deadlock could protest, Ratchet limped right past him and leaned over the rim of the crater. “Hey there, buddy. Don’t worry. You’re going to be okay.” 

“YOU?!” Hun-Garr cringed, curling his two necks around himself. “Please don’t hurt me. I’m sorry about before but I was just so hungry. I promised to always follow orders, but I didn’t know about the medic rules.” 

“Take it easy,” Ratchet held his hands up in a non-threatening gesture, keeping his reassuring tone even. “No one is going to hurt you.” 

Deadlock watched mesmerized. Ratchet’s blue optics glowed with genuine concern for a bot that hurt him not too long ago. He didn’t understand how someone could have so much kindness inside their spark. All he ever found when he looked inside himself was a vast emptiness. None of the assorted chemicals he injected ever made the slightest dent in it. Since he joined the Decepticons, more often than not, rage and fury filled that void. He wondered if he had any kindness left in him. While he was prepared to simply shoot Hun-Garr and move on, Ratchet actually wanted to help the hapless idiot. 

“We’re going to get you out of there, but first you will to promise not to eat anyone.” Ratchet’s tone remained gentle but with a stern edge. He expected his instructions to be followed with confidence of someone used to obedience. Deadlock wasn’t sure what the consequences of crossing the medic were, but they couldn’t be good. 

“I promise! I promise! I won’t try to eat you ever again! Please! Just don’t leave me here all alone.” 

“Well.” Ratchet turned to Deadlock. “I can’t get him out of there by myself.” 

“FINE.” Deadlock moaned. Ratchet wouldn’t give up. The sooner they fished Hun-Garr out of this mess, the sooner he could get Ratchet back to the Autobots. “I’ll help. Only because you asked.” 

“Technically,” Ratchet shifted his weight off his injured leg and folded his arms with a smug smile. “I didn’t ask anything. But since you offered, I accept!” 

Deadlock’s jaw dropped. “I don’t believe it!” He chuckled. The laughter came from someplace that he didn’t even know he still had. It rumbled through his engine so pleasantly. 

“He’s too far down to reach. Maybe if we-” 

“This should help.” Deadlock produced the cable rope that he took from the supply room. He knew it would come in handy. 

“Perfect!” Ratchet took the rope and ran it through his hands to gauge its length. “Since there’s nothing good to tie off to, you’ll be our anchor. I’ll rappel down and unstick the monster bot. Then you pull us up.” 

“WHAT?! No way! That is a terrible plan!” Deadlock drew his palm down his face, not believing his audials. “You can’t climb down there! Even if he doesn’t bite you again, you’re not strong enough to pull him out.” 

“Pfft! I’ll have you know that I once physically threw both Roller and Thunderclash out of my room when I was trying to study. In case you didn’t know, they’re both heavyweight transport class with at least four axles apiece. Although these injuries slowed me down, I’ve still got plenty in the tank. Trust me.” 

“Is that so?” Deadlock raised a brow ridge. “I bet you a hundred shanix you couldn’t even pick me up.” 

Ratchet narrowed his optics and cracked his knuckles. He strode towards Deadlock with an uneven gait and scooped him up. Deadlock’s optics widened, casting a crimson glow over Ratchet’s white armor. When his broken shoulder buckled, Ratchet winced but effortlessly shifted Deadlock to his other arm. Quickly hefting Deadlock up, he placed his hand on the small of his back and easily lifted him over his head. 

“Okay! Okay!” Deadlock hid his face in his hands as the energon rushed to his cheeks. The medic’s absurd strength took him by surprise, but what really shocked him was how good it felt to be held in those strong arms, even for a split second. “Put me down!” 

“I win! You owe me a hundred shanix!” Ratchet grinned. He set Deadlock back on his feet and swayed from the exertion. Reaching out to stop himself from falling, he caught Deadlock’s arm. Taking a few moments to steady himself, Ratchet looked up with a sheepish grin. “Sorry about that. I might have overdid it just a tad. Let’s get hungry-bot out of there and then maybe take another break. Not that I need one, of course.” 

“Right.” Deadlock rolled his optics and wrapped the cable diagonally across his back. He planted his feet in the most stable ground he could find along the crater’s rim. “Go get him, but if he even looks at you sideways, just holler. I’m right here.” 

“Thanks for your concern,” Ratchet rolled his shoulder and double checked his welds, “But I can handle myself.” With a mock salute, he took the cable and disappeared over the edge. 

Deadlock watched intently as Ratchet rappelled closer to Hun-Garr. Both reptilian heads swung around to focus intensely on the medic. As far as Deadlock was concerned, shooting the Terrorcon remained a viable option. His plating flared at the thought of those fangs sinking into Ratchet’s battered armor. To prevent himself from arming his weapons, he focused all of his attention on Ratchet. 

Rappelling to the end of the rope, Ratchet reached out to Hun-Garr. At first the two-headed lizard shrunk away from his grasp. 

“Come on, buddy.” Ratchet offered the Terrorcon a gentle smile that sent a fillip of envy through Deadlock’s spark. He swallowed a growl and tightened his grip on the rain-soaked cable. 

“I can’t reach,” Hun-Garr whined, great tears forming in all four of his optics. “I’m going to be stuck forever.” 

“Forever is a very long time,” Ratchet chuckled. He stretched out as far as his injuries allowed, wincing through the effort. Deadlock’s entire frame tensed, ready to intervene if anything went wrong. “Tell you what? Why don’t you transform into bot mode? The motion from your t-cog should loosen the mud enough for you to move close enough for me to grab you.” 

“NO!” Hun-Garr wailed, tears streaming down his twin saurian snouts. Both heads began jabbering at once. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. Bot mode isn’t strong enough! They’ll find me again. They’ll take me again! I can’t go back. Soundwave promised! He promised that I wouldn’t have to ever go back. I won’t be able to stop them in bot mode. It hurt so much.” 

Ratchet cast a quick inquiring glance up at Deadlock. He just shrugged, patience wearing thin. “All I know is that Soundwave rescued all five Terrorcons from the Institute.” 

At the mention of the Institute, Hun-Garr howled and curled around himself, his huge frame wracked by sobs. Deadlock was about to suggest they just leave him and move on when he looked at Ratchet. He stared at the medic, simultaneously terrified and mesmerized. A fierce and dangerous fire burned in Ratchet’s blue optics, lighting the rain that streaked down his broken armor. He straightened up and suddenly seemed like a figure out some lost legend, an invincible force of righteous anger. Deadlock was spellbound. 

“They had no right to hurt you.” Ratchet began, his tone still even but with something much stronger and harder beneath the gentleness. “You are so strong to have survived so much. You need to transform to free yourself. I know you can do it.” 

Hun-Garr sniffled and turned his two heads towards Ratchet, “You won’t let them take me.” 

“You have my word.” Ratchet strained to touch one of Hun-Garr's heads, fingertips lightly stroking his snout. “As soon as you get out of this pit, you can change back into your alt mode. I will protect you until you can protect yourself.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.” 

Ratchet’s transformation into a being of pure ferocious willpower swayed Hun-Garr at last. Deadlock sighed with relief when he finally heard the telltale sound of a transformation cog activating. He peered over the crater’s rim, curious to see Hun-Garr's bot mode. His optics widened seeing Ratchet cuddling a rather small mini-con in his arms. No wonder Hun-Garr feared his bot mode as weak. His frame must have the mass displacement ability. Deadlock growled as he wondered if that ability was natural or something that resulted from some terrible experiments at the hands of the scientists in the Institute. 

“I’ve got you. I knew you could do it.” Ratchet said quietly, holding Hun-Garr's tiny bot mode tightly to his chest with his injured arm. The diminutive bot clung desperately him. Ratchet tugged the rope and Deadlock used all his strength to pull them both up as rapidly as possible. “Everything is going to be okay.” 

As soon as they were out of the crater, Ratchet gingerly set Hun-Garr down. He changed back into his massive two-headed lizard form as soon as his feet hit the ground, growing in size as his transformation cog spun. Looming over them, he turned both saurian heads towards Ratchet. Deadlock’s hands shot to hover over his holstered pistols, trigger fingers twitching. 

“Thank you.” Hun-Garr rumbled. He closed his four optics and pressed both foreheads against Ratchet’s chest. 

Ratchet smiled and ran his hands down the two necks. “You’re welcome, but you had the strength inside you all along. Never forget that.” 

Hun-Garr drew himself up to his full impressive height. “To thank you for everything, you will always be off-limits. I promise to never try to eat you ever again. Even if the rules change, even if the orders change, you have the allegiance of all the Terrorcons. Forever. Which is a very long time,” he added with a pair of fanged grins. 

Ratchet rubbed the back of his helm, unsure quite how to respond to Hun-Garr's overwhelming gratitude. He shifted his weight and flexed the fingers with the dented knuckles. Deadlock knew he had to be in a lot of discomfort, even with the pain blockers, but he still risked so much to help this monster in distress, simply because he cared. Thinking about Hun-Garr's earlier attempt to turn Ratchet into a midnight snack, Deadlock was surprised to find his rage replaced by something else. He now felt a modicum of pity for the poor starving science experiment that he would have happily killed moments earlier. After all, anyone that vowed to watch over Ratchet couldn’t be all bad. 

“Here.” Deadlock offered Hun-Garr the remaining two medical energon cubes. After that proclamation of protection for Ratchet, Deadlock felt compelled to make an offering of his own. 

“For me?” Hun-Garr's crimson optics shone and both mouths opened, flashing his eager fangs. 

“Yeah. You can’t tell Turmoil about any of this. That’s an order. I’ll talk to Flatline about getting your rations increased. Your mass displacement ability must be burning through the energon faster than everyone else.” 

“Thank you, too.” Hun-Garr nodded with grave seriousness. “I will tell no one but other Terrorcons, because we keep no secrets from each other.” He swung his heads around and took one energon cube in each mouth. He then swallowed them both whole at the same time, glass cubes and all, his engine slipping into a contented purr. 

Deadlock blinked. He hadn’t expected that. He cast a glance over to Ratchet and found the medic staring at him, a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. Something new shone in those blue optics. Energon rushing to his cheeks again, Deadlock quickly whirled away. 

“Just get back to base,” he told Hun-Garr. “And be careful this time!” 

“Yes, sir!” Hun-Garr nodded one head to Deadlock and the other to Ratchet. Then he turned and lumbered off into the storm, humming a satisfied tune. 

“That was a really nice gesture.” Ratchet laid his hand heavily on Deadlock’s shoulder. Despite the miserable weather, he felt so warm and secure under Ratchet’s touch. Part of him contemplated pulling away. After all, these feelings couldn’t last, no matter how comfortable he became with the Autobot. His main objective was to get Ratchet back to safety. He quashed any burgeoning hopes by telling himself that Ratchet probably just needed to lean on him for support because of his injuries and not for any other reason. 

“It was more stupid than anything.” Deadlock shrugged, brushing off the compliment. “Those were the last two energon cubes that I had. Now we don’t have any in reserve if we need them.” 

“Then it was especially generous. Besides, sometimes the stupid thing is the right thing.” Ratchet smiled and squeezed his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, kid.” 

Deadlock’s spark glowed with more happiness than he felt in a very long time, far more than he thought himself capable of feeling. Overwhelmed by emotions, he wriggled out of Ratchet’s grasp. He ran a slight distance away and halted, waiting for his racing engine to calm down. Still uncertain if Ratchet remembered him from before the war, Deadlock thought again about asking him. 

Listening to Ratchet slog through the mud behind him, Deadlock struggled within himself. Ratchet had to remember. He just had to. Several times Deadlock thought he saw flashes of recognition in his blue optics, along with other emotions that he couldn’t decipher. But then what? Ratchet couldn’t stay with him. Turmoil would kill him, even with the Terrorcons’ sworn allegiance. Should he ask to go with Ratchet? Maybe not become an Autobot, but just stay with him? Would he even accept him? 

Deadlock canted his finials back. On the other hand, he strongly believed in the Decepticon cause. Everyone should have the right to choose their own destiny, and no one should be cast aside as worthless. He knew Ratchet believed the same thing or else he never would have saved him all those years ago. Although he wore the autobrand in the center of his chest, Deadlock didn’t really think of Ratchet as an Autobot. Neither was he a Decepticon. He was better than both. Far better than Deadlock could even hope to be; far better than he deserved. 

“Hey!” Ratchet huffed as he limped alongside Deadlock, finally catching up. “Are you okay? I just-” He brought his injured leg forward. It sunk deep into the muck until it hit something solid. A sharp metallic click sent a shiver through his frame. “Oh. Rust me!” 

Deadlock froze, optics widening in terror. He knew that chilling sound: the activation of an antipersonnel landmine’s pressure plate. When Ratchet moved his foot, the decompressing spring would trigger an explosion and a shower of shrapnel. 

“Look. Don’t get excited.” Ratchet held up his hands. “It’s going to be okay.” 

“No. It is not okay!” Deadlock shouted, voice filling with static. His engine raced even faster joined by the high-pitched whine of his turbo chargers. “None of this is okay!” 

“I need you to listen to me,” Ratchet slipped back into the reassuring tone that he used with Hun-Garr. 

Burying his face in his trembling hands, Deadlock choked back a sob. He brought Ratchet so far. All he wanted was to keep him safe, but he got carried away by his emotions. This was all his fault. If he hadn’t ran ahead, this never would have happened. He had a knack for avoiding landmines. If he walked with Ratchet, he never would have stepped on one. 

“I won’t lose you now.” Resolve hardening, Deadlock vented out and met Ratchet’s optics. Ratchet’s safety was the only thing that mattered. Deadlock calculated different angles to approach this situation. He could use his speed to push Ratchet off the landmine. The thick mud would absorb some of the blast and his own armor would shield Ratchet from the rest of the shrapnel. He circled around to select the best angle, planting his feet and revving his engine. 

“WHOA!” Ratchet’s optics blazed as he guessed Deadlock’s plan. “I know I said that the stupid thing is sometimes the right thing, but this is NOT one of those times! Just listen! I know exactly what to do!” 

“There’s no time!” Before he could change his mind, Deadlock launched himself forward in a blinding burst of speed. He slammed into Ratchet and curled himself around the Autobot. As Ratchet fell backwards, the landmine detonated. Searing pain tore through Deadlock’s side. The explosion rang in his audials. Landing hard on Ratchet, hot energon splashed across his armor. Deadlock prayed that it was his own. 

Bits of shrapnel and globs of mud pelted his back along with the continuous rain. He tried to move to no avail. Struggling to stay online, Deadlock fought the automatic shutdown of his major systems. Through the haze of pain and static, someone held him tightly. Unable to wriggle away, Deadlock gave in and melted into the embrace. As his systems blinked out one by one, he could barely make out shouting. It sounded worried and angry at the same time. Relief washed over him. Ratchet survived. Deadlock smiled and slipped offline. At least he had managed to one good thing with his life.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After sacrificing himself to protect Ratchet, Deadlock wakes up safe and repaired. Time is running short and Deadlock has a lot on his mind. Despite all the pressing concerns of the impending battle, the most important thing is ensuring the safety of the medic who went out of his way to save Deadlock again, no matter how much it hurts.

“Hey! You still with me, kid?” 

Deadlock groaned as his systems sluggishly began rebooting. 

“Take it easy now.” 

He sat up slowly, a dull ache radiated from his side. Although he swayed, someone caught him as he struggled to remain upright. A violent shiver ran through his frame. He felt the slight pressure of gentle hands rubbing small circles on his back. Despite all his injuries that reassuring gesture felt so good. Deadlock relaxed as his engine rumbled with a low purr, marred by the occasional misfire. 

Somehow, he had survived the explosion. Cycling his optics several times, the red and white blotches which filled his vision gradually focused to reveal a rather upset Ratchet. Lacking the energy to hide his true emotions, Deadlock looked up at him with a wobbly smile. There were no fangs or sharp edges, just genuine happiness. 

“That was damn fool thing to do!” Ratchet huffed, still holding Deadlock while his systems came online one at a time. 

“You Autobots have a funny way of saying thank you.” Deadlock laughed and something rattled in his chest. 

“TH- THANK YOU? For WHAT?!” Ratchet shouted. “For almost getting yourself killed?” Although his tone rose in anger, Deadlock could see the fear shining in his optics. That was one emotion he recognized. 

“For saving your life. Again.” Deadlock mustered a lop-sided grin. “You’re welcome.” 

“I am NOT going to thank you for hurting yourself! If you’d have waited one second and not been so damned reckless, I would have told you that I know how to defuse those landmines.” 

“You do?” 

“YES! I do! I would have done it myself but,” he gestured to the patchy welds on his leg, “I couldn’t bend down to reach it. All you have to do is keep pressure on the top and dig under the mine. There’s a small spring that you have to pull to reset the pressure plate. When you lock it down, it deactivates the mine.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. Oh.” Ratchet sighed and shook his head. “You gave me a hell of a scare.” 

Deadlock blinked again and realized that he could hear the rain but not feel it. “Where are we?” 

“Back the rocks where we stopped before we fished Hun-Garr out of the mud.” 

“How?” 

“How do you think?” 

“You? Carried me?” Deadlock hazily regretted being offline. Ratchet held him in his strong arms and he missed it. A drowsy smile spread across his face as he imagined the feeling of comfortable security. 

“Guessed it on the first try,” Ratchet laughed and it warmed all of Deadlock’s circuits. “You were in a bad way and I needed somewhere sheltered to put you back together. The risk of rust infection from wet welds was too high.” 

“Back together?” Deadlock finally ran his hand over his side. A large piece of his gunmetal gray armor had been replaced with a red and white panel. He gasped and looked up at Ratchet. The fender flare was missing from his previously uninjured shoulder. 

“You…” The words died in his throat and turned to static before he could get them out. Ratchet carried him through the storm then donated one of his own armor panels to save his life. Deadlock blinked back tears. Everything was a mess. Between the extreme exertion and emergency surgery, Ratchet needed help more than ever and he didn’t even have any extra energon left. 

“You were bleeding to death. The explosion tore right through your armor and main fuel line. Besides,” Ratchet shrugged, “Red and white looks good on you.” 

“Why?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. I just have an eye for color I guess.” 

“No. Not that.” Deadlock shook his head and his overheating vent fans began to whine. “Why did you save me? You didn’t have to. Now you’re in even worse shape than before.” 

“Hey there,” Ratchet said softly, squeezing his shoulder. “I couldn’t just leave you.” 

“Yes! Yes, you could have.” Deadlock turned away, tears hot on his cheeks. Anger and confusion burned in his spark. “Why? Why do you care so much?” 

“Because.” Ratchet grasped his shoulders and gently turned Deadlock back to face him. He gingerly placed his hand with the busted knuckles right in the center of his chest over his Decepticon badge. “You’ve got a good spark, kid. I can tell. I hope that one day you can see it too.” 

Deadlock wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand and met Ratchet’s optics with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “If that’s what you see, then you need your optics checked.” 

“Don’t give me that rust wash.” Ratchet grumbled. “I know what I’m talking about.” 

“If you say so.” Deadlock cycled his optics again. His visual systems must be malfunctioning. He could have sworn Ratchet’s face glowed soft pink. 

“Damn right I do.” Ratchet haltingly stood up and offered Deadlock his hand. “Now let’s see if all your ambulatory systems survived your little stunt with the landmine.” 

“I’m fine.” Deadlock mumbled as he accepted Ratchet’s assistance. To his surprise, the pain was already fading. His self-repair systems kicked in, finishing Ratchet’s meticulous welds. Despite his multi-color patches, he felt pretty good, especially considering that he expected to be dead. 

Deadlock’s joints stiffened as a terrifying thought ran though his mind. He felt too good. After major surgery, he should be in more pain. Picturing the tantalizing vial of golden liquid, Deadlock gripped Ratchet’s arm. “You didn’t- I can’t-” 

“Don’t worry,” Ratchet reassured him. “I didn’t give you any of the pain-blockers; I’m saving them for myself. The more precise the patches, the less pain in recovery. Not to brag but, my welds are the best you’ll ever have. I don’t know if you heard but, I did once get a medal for ‘It’s Pretty Good, I Guess’.” 

Smiling at Ratchet’s reference to his stupid joke, a wave of relief washed over Deadlock as he muttered a silent prayer of thanks. If all his prayers keep getting answered, he might have to start actually believing in Primus. Although he downplayed the issue before, he avoided all pain-blockers since Megatron made him sober up upon joining the Decepticons. It was hard enough to quit the first time; he couldn’t risk falling back into bad habits. Even if he didn’t have utter faith in the Decepticon cause, Deadlock would have stayed simply out of loyalty to Megatron. His life in the Dead End was a mess. Megatron offered him a way out of all that; forced him to give up his chemical vices, gave him a place in his army and a purpose as one of his most trusted warriors. 

While Ratchet supported him through his first few shaky steps, Deadlock took the opportunity to evaluate the medic’s condition. He moved slowly, still awkwardly favoring his injured leg, wincing with each jarring step. Since he had to patch himself in the rain, there was likely some rust festering in those wounds. The missing fender flare that now held Deadlock’s midsection together gave him a smaller silhouette. He wouldn’t be able to transform until he got some replacement parts, not that an ambulance alt mode would be much use in this terrain. His normally vibrant blue optics lacked their usual luster with dim shadows playing at their edges. He needed another couple of cubes of energon and the attention of someone with more medical prowess than Deadlock’s minimal first aid skills. Worst of all, time was running short. 

When the nightly storm ended, both sides would likely renew the battle, unless he could make it back to camp in time for his meeting with Megatron. Deadlock planned to recommend that they withdraw from this front immediately. Staying here wasn’t doing any good for the Decepticon cause or its soldiers. After their encounter with Hun-Garr tonight, he also felt compelled to make sure that the Terrorcons got access to higher rations of energon. More important than all of that, more important than anything else in the entire world, was the Autobot currently helping him recalibrate his steps. 

He set out into the storm tonight with the singular objective to get Ratchet to safety. Although he did successfully escape from their camp, he was the one that needed saving again. Just like before, Ratchet used all his considerable skills to put him back together. He didn’t deserve it this time either. 

“A shanix for your thoughts?” 

Deadlock blinked and stared at Ratchet. 

“You’ve gone awfully quiet, is all. Are the repairs holding up okay?” 

“The repairs are fine.” Deadlock ran his hand over his new bright white patch. He was totally keeping it. A little gray paint and no one would even know the difference. With all his systems back online and properly recalibrated, Deadlock felt as good as new; maybe even a little better. “Thank you.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Ratchet released him and watched as Deadlock took a few steps on his own. He hummed in approval. “I suppose I owe you some thanks as well. Even if it was reckless and stupid, you got hurt because you wanted to help me.” 

“What was that?” Deadlock finials perked up. “Am I hallucinating or did someone actually say thank you?” 

“No one said anything of the sort.” Ratchet shifted his weight and folded his arms although his smile said something else entirely. “You must be hearing things.” 

“Actually, I think I might be hearing things. There’s a strange thumping in my audials.” 

“Hmm.” Ratchet shook his head and tapped the side of his own helm. “It’s not just you. I hear it too.” 

The rhythmic pulse grew louder. Deadlock’s optics widened. His hands automatically went to his pistols, mind racing through the identities of every one of Turmoil’s soldiers. “It’s a helicopter! But I don’t think we have anyone with that alt mode.” 

“We do.” Ratchet narrowed his optics. He put one hand on his hip and gestured wildly at the sky with the other. “If that’s Alpha Bravo, I’m going to have words with him! I just reattached his rotors yesterday after he got caught the business end of a surface to air missile and gave him strict orders to stay grounded for at least three days. It’s been one day! Only ONE! He’s going to hurt himself again.” 

Only partially listening to Ratchet’s rant, Deadlock crept to the edge of their shelter. Peering into the downpour, he made out a distant searchlight sweeping the battlefield. As the helicopter worked his way closer, he could hear him shout, “RATCHET! WHERE ARE YOU?” His voice crackled with static. “OH PLEASE, RATCH! YOU GOTTA BE OUT THERE!” 

“He’s looking for you.” Deadlock whispered as the realization hit him. 

“For me?” Ratchet leaned heavily on Deadlock, straining to see out into the gloom. Deadlock relished the warmth of the medic’s frame even as it broke his spark. Their time together was coming to an end. “That doesn’t get him off the hook.” 

“You need to go with him.” 

“No way. I need to make sure that you’ll be okay.” 

“You’ve already done that.” Deadlock sighed and added quietly, “In more ways than you’ll ever know.” 

“But-” 

Before Ratchet could protest, Deadlock cupped his hands around his mouth and roared, “ALPHA BRAVO! OVER HERE!” 

The helicopter halted, hovering in midair as he swung the searchlight in their direction. “Ratchet?” His static-filled voice rising with hope. “Is that you?” 

“YEAH!” Deadlock shouted. “I NEED HELP!” 

“What are you doing?” Ratchet gasped, his circuits locking up like he had just been shot. Deadlock studied the medic in confusion. Maybe the lack of energon was finally getting to him. 

“Calling you a ride.” 

“But- But you-” 

“Will be fine.” Deadlock finished his sentence. “You need more help than I can give. You need to go back to the Autobots because you can’t come back with me. We don’t have enough supplies to repair you anyway. Without proper repairs, you’ll die. You’re so much better than all of this. You have to survive.” Deadlock stopped himself before he blurted out that he needed to know that somewhere Ratchet was alive. As long as Ratchet survived, Deadlock could rest assured that there was at least one good thing left in the entire universe. If he died, then all hope would be lost. 

Alpha Bravo flew closer. Still calling for Ratchet, his spotlight gleamed; the only point of light in the expansive darkness. 

“You have to go out there or he’ll never find you.” 

“But he doesn’t know that you helped me. What if he shoots at you?” 

Deadlock cocked his head to one side. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Ratchet was stalling. Why was he making excuses to linger here when his rescue was literally right outside? “I’ll wait here until you’re both gone. He won’t see me.” 

“O...K...” Ratchet dragged out his short response like he was still unsure of something. “I- I guess this it then.” 

“Yeah.” Deadlock canted his finials back. He looked up with a sheepish smile. “Try not to get captured again. I might not be there next time.” 

“No promises!” Ratchet rubbed the back of his helm with a quiet laugh and Deadlock memorized every detail of the sound. “Take care of yourself, kid.” 

Deadlock nodded, not trusting himself to form coherent words. Ratchet limped out into the storm. He turned back towards Deadlock, rain shining on his white armor. He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. Deadlock furrowed his brow. What was he doing? Seeming to struggle with some internal conflict, Ratchet shut his optics and shook his head. He chewed his lip and locked optics with Deadlock just as Alpha Bravo’s light finally found him. 

“RATCHET!!” The helicopter exclaimed. “Oh, thank Primus!” 

Giving a small wave to Alpha Bravo, Ratchet cast one last glance towards Deadlock. The slight smile on his face was the saddest thing that Deadlock ever saw. Maybe Ratchet did recognize him after all. 

The helicopter descended right next to Ratchet. Deadlock gasped, stunned by his massive size. Deadlock was expecting the slight frame of an attack chopper not a burly transport craft with strangely familiar orange paint work. He transformed before he hit the ground and wrapped Ratchet in a tight hug. 

“I thought we lost you, Doc!” Alpha Bravo curled around him, tears shimmering along the edges of his blue visor. 

“Alright. Alright.” Ratchet winced and a shiver ran through his frame. “I missed you too. Now put me down, you big lugnut.” 

A fierce growl echoed in Deadlock’s audials. It took him a few moments to realize that it came from his own engine. He envied that stupid helicopter. Not so much that he hugged Ratchet, but that he was so open about his feelings. Deadlock couldn’t even find the courage to ask Ratchet one question and this idiot just drops out of the sky and bares his spark. 

“I was so worried! I snuck out after curfew and flew up and down the entire battlefield, hoping to find you.” 

“While I appreciate the effort, what did I tell you yesterday?” 

“That I have very nice rotors?” Alpha Bravo hunched his broad shoulders with a sheepish grin. 

Ratchet glowered at him. 

“Ugh! Fine! Not to fly for a few days. But I couldn’t bear the thought of you lost out here; Injured and alone in this miserable weather. I couldn’t lose you too. Especially after- After...” Alpha Bravo shook his head and rapidly changed the subject. “You look terrible by the way, like a giant turbo fix chewed you up and spit you out. Here.” He handed Ratchet a cube of thick medical grade energon and gently draped a weatherproof tarp over his mangled shoulders. “I’ll fly you back to base. You probably should see another medic as soon as possible. Fix-It's gonna blow a gasket! He thought for sure you had been killed, but I told him you’re too stubborn to die.” 

Ratchet accepted both items with a weary sigh. Taking a sip of the energon, he offered the helicopter a tired smile. “Turn around. Let me check your rotors before you crash and kill us both.” 

Setting something on the ground behind the helicopter’s back, Ratchet inspected his patched rotors. Satisfied that his original repair work was holding up, Ratchet laid a hand on Alpha Bravo’s shoulder. “Everything looks good. Let’s go. It’s been a long night.” 

Deadlock watched from his place in the shadows. Ratchet looked even worse than before. His shoulders sagged as if pressed down by some unbearable weight and his normally vibrant blue of his optics appeared so dull. Alpha Bravo transformed and Ratchet tripped climbing onboard. Deadlock fought the impulse to rush to his side. Ratchet turned towards Deadlock’s hiding spot one last time and winked, gesturing to the ground as the helicopter carried him away. 

Waiting until the thumping of Alpha Bravo’s rotors receded into the storm, Deadlock cautiously crept out into the open. He made his way to where Ratchet had motioned and found a small bundle. Deadlock barked a laugh as tears burned in his optics. Ratchet left him the full energon cube wrapped in the weatherproof tarp. He pulled the tarp around his own shoulders, grateful for some protection from the rain. 

Deadlock stared out across the broken terrain. He would win this war, no matter what the cost. When he finally dragged his ideal world into reality, he would find Ratchet. Maybe by then, he would discover something better in himself. If he worked hard enough, hopefully he could forge himself into someone worthy of staying with Ratchet. Until then, he would have to content himself with holding on to a few bright memories. At least he had the chance to make some new ones tonight. His fingertips trailed lightly over his new red and white patch. 

Before turning back to stalk through the storm to his own base camp, Deadlock faced the direction that Alpha Bravo took Ratchet. He pulled his makeshift cloak tighter around himself against the driving rain. Raising his glass to the sky, he sighed, “To terrible energon and a better tomorrow.” Telling himself that he made the right decision, Deadlock took a drink from the cube and metallic bitterness filled his mouth.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drift wakes up safe on the Lost Light, but shaken from reliving his past. This time he doesn't have to face his struggles alone; Ratchet is right there beside him.

Drift woke up all at once with a gasp and sat up bolt upright. The high-pitched whine of his turbo chargers filled his audials. A frantic glance at his surroundings revealed that he was in his hab suite on the Lost Light, no rain or mud in sight. He examined his trembling hands. Even in the dim lighting, they shone brilliant white with vibrant red trim, without any trace of deep purple or gunmetal gray. Relief washed over him. He really did look good in red and white. More importantly, he felt good in those colors. 

Venting out slowly, Drift buried his face in his shaky hands. He tried to calm his racing engine with a few meditation techniques. The soft rustle of someone stirring next to him did more to help him relax than a thousand contemplative exercises. 

“Bad dream?” Ratchet sleepily muttered. 

“Sort of.” Drift peered through his fingers at his conjunx endura snuggled next to him. “You were in it.” 

“Hmm. Sounds like a real nightmare.” 

Drift ignored Ratchet’s dry humor. “I killed him, Ratty. I just killed him and didn’t even care. Not even a little.” 

“Who?” Ratchet yawned. “Because if you say ‘Misfire,’ I’m sure it was 100% justifiable. If you need an alibi, I’ll just say that you’ve been here with me all night.” 

“I HAVE been with you all night,” Drift replied a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“Good.” Ratchet lazily stretched and rolled over to face him. “Then I don’t even have to lie.” 

Despite Ratchet’s obvious efforts to distract him, the memory of the familiar weight of his guns in his hands clouded his mood. He could still feel the easy resistance of the trigger as he shot the battered Autobot flier without a second of hesitation. That bot was only an obstruction in his mission to save Ratchet; he never even considered him a person. He’d have killed Hun-Garr too if Ratchet hadn’t insisted on helping him. Drift hadn’t thought about that night in a long time. He shuddered. 

“I didn’t even know his name. It wasn’t part of a mission, or a battle, he was just an inconvenience. Looking back, I think that’s what scares me the most. That I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anyone or anything.” 

“Hey, now,” Ratchet propped himself up on one elbow. “We both know that’s not entirely true.” 

“Yes, it is.” Drift drew his legs up and hugged his knees to his chest. “I am a terrible person.” 

“You did terrible things.” Ratchet sat up next to Drift. “But that does not make you a terrible person.” 

Drift didn’t respond. He just closed his optics and sighed. He longed to believe it, but how could he? So much energon stained his past. Whenever he started to feel like he’s made some small progress, some horrible memory resurfaces. With a whole new universe to explore, he thought he could finally leave everything behind and start over. Unfortunately, a lifetime of regrets can’t be so easily tossed aside; he had brought it all with him. 

Ratchet let out an exaggerated sigh. “There’s no dissuading you is there? You are stubbornly determined to mope about things that you can’t possibly change.” 

“I am not moping,” Drift mumbled without looking up. 

“Oh. I’m sorry. My mistake. Clearly, you are wallowing.” 

“Be shoosh. This is the zone of struggling with past regrets.” Drift waved his arms vaguely around himself. 

“For rust’s sake! Don’t let that knowledge get out! I don’t need every bot on this ship cramming into our hab suite, wallowing in their self-pity.” 

“No one else has regrets like I do. I killed a lot of people and never once cared about any of them. I didn’t care about anything.” Drift bit his tongue before he added ‘not even myself.’ He felt the emptiness that plagued him during that part of his life threatening to overwhelm him again. 

“Drift. We were at war for four million years. Everyone did things that they wished they didn’t. Have you even met our co-captains?” 

“But Megatron-” 

“I’m not talking about Megatron; he’s in a whole separate category. I’m talking about your amica.” 

“Rodimus? You mean Nyon?” 

“Among other things, some much more recent. We can’t undo the things in our past, but we learn what we can and help each other carry the burden.” 

Drift quietly considered Ratchet’s words. Before Rodimus and Thunderclash started spending so much time together, Drift had fielded enough late-night visits from Rodimus to know that nightmares about his past haunted him as well. There was one big difference though. Rodimus hurt because he cared too much, Drift hurt because he didn’t care at all. He curled around himself a little tighter. 

“You wanna tell me about what’s bothering you?” Ratchet asked gently. 

Drift pictured Ratchet up to his elbows in the spark chamber of the orange flier as Turmoil towered over him. He should tell Ratchet that spark failure didn’t kill his friend, one of his own well aimed bullets did. Instead, he just shook his head and let the silence stretch out long enough to let Ratchet know he didn’t want to talk about it. 

“Well then. In that case, is there enough room for someone else in your little ‘zone of regrets’?” Ratchet made the air quote motion with his fingers. “If you’re so damned determined to be miserable, I might as well join you.” 

Despite the fact that Ratchet was already sitting up with him, Drift made a show of scooting slightly to one side by way of an invitation. Ratchet moved a little closer and attempted to tuck his legs close to mirror Drift’s posture. Unable to match Drift’s flexibility, he grumbled and rustled around, trying to find a comfortable position. He made such a spectacle, Drift couldn’t help but smile. 

“You are such a good person. What could you possibly feel bad about?” 

“Pfft! Plenty. You think you’re the only one who’s made terrible decisions? If you really want to know, I’ll spare you the itemized list and just cut right to the quick. I still have nightmares about this one; it has haunted me for years.” 

Drift’s finials perked up and he turned his bright blue optics on Ratchet. His conjunx was notoriously stoic and treated all personal information like a closely guarded secret. Getting Ratchet to talk about himself was difficult as prying off a rusty bolt with stripped threads and twice as painful. Through trial and error, Drift learned that patience is key. Once Ratchet decided to open up, you just had to wait and listen. He must be really dedicated to distracting Drift from his nightmare if he was going to willingly share a personal story. 

Ratchet stared at his own hands, flexing his fingers as if remembering some past hurt. He sighed deeply and his shoulders slumped. Turning to cast a sideways glance at Drift, he opened his mouth but then hesitated. He shook his head and looked down at his hands again. Drift waited; his curiosity piqued. Finally Ratchet whispered, “If I’d have asked, would you have come with me?” 

“What are you taking about? I’d go anywhere with you.” 

“I don’t mean now.” Sorrow shone in Ratchet’s optics when he finally looked up. “It was a long time ago, so I don’t blame you if you don’t remember, but I’ve thought about that night so very often. How could I ever forget when I made one of the biggest mistakes of my life?” 

Drift cocked his head to one side in confusion. He didn’t dare say anything for fear of derailing Ratchet’s train of thought, especially when he was showing such vulnerability. 

“It was early in the war, and we were on a fool’s errand of defending an old energon mine in the worst weather imaginable. I couldn’t tell you how many patients I lost to rust infections.” 

The image of a rain-soaked muddy battlefield flashed through Drift’s mind like lightning, the sound of exploding ordnance like rolling thunder. 

“Fireflight was careless, as usual, and got himself shot down again. I told Alpha Bravo that his amica was too absent-minded to be out on the front lines, but stupid sweet Fireflight wanted to help. He crashed behind the Decepticon front and, like an idiot, I ran to help him. We were both taken prisoner. It wasn’t the first time for either of us. However, it was the last time for him.” 

Drift’s optics widened as the image of battered orange flier viewed through his sniper’s scope hit him like a sucker punch. These new details threatened to overwhelm him. His name was Fireflight, an Autobot flier with an amiable temperament not suited for brutal warfare. He had an amica endura, the helicopter that air-lifted Ratchet to safety. That’s why Alpha Bravo’s paintwork seemed familiar. They must have chosen the same bright orange as a sign of their bond. And he just shot him. One bullet to the spark, like he was nothing. The more he learned, the more his own spark ached in his chest. Drift forced himself to pay attention. 

“Fireflight’s crash put him in critical condition before the Decepticons grabbed us. I tried to stabilize him, but he was too far gone. Unfortunately, I had other problems...” Ratchet chewed his bottom lip. “Let’s just say that this wasn’t the only time I’d been beaten to the brink of fade-out, but it was one of the few times that I thought for sure, that I was going to die. They were going to kill me, and have a grand old time of it, until... Until you showed up. You saved me so many times that night.” 

Drift’s optics blazed open, his mind racing with all this new information. Just how many times had Ratchet nearly been beaten to death? Why was he only hearing about this now?! He shook his head to help himself focus. That was a conversation for another time. He snapped to face Ratchet. Forgetting his personal rule about not interrupting Ratchet’s emotional outpouring, he gasped, “You knew that was me?” 

“Of course, I knew it was you. I thought it was obvious.” 

“Not to me! I’ve always wondered if you knew! You have no idea how much time I spent agonizing over whether or not to ask if you remembered saving my life back in the Dead End!” Drift blinked. Suddenly the whole ordeal made more sense, he was just too wrapped up in his own insecurities to realize it. That’s why Ratchet trusted him so easily; he remembered meeting him before. He must have figured that someone who’s life he once saved wouldn’t do him any harm. If only he were better at reading auras and deciphering emotional queues back then. 

“But- But I called you KID! You had to realize that I knew who you were.” 

“I thought that was something that you just called people: like buddy or pal.” 

“NO. I only ever called you ‘kid.’ No one else.” 

“Why?” 

“Because it’s what you call someone who- Someone who means the world to you. Because you are so special and I care about you... so much. I always have.” 

Even though he knew how Ratchet felt about him in his spark, hearing it so directly stated warmed all of Drift’s circuits. Despite the bad memories still weighing on his conscious, Drift couldn’t help himself. He could never resist an opportunity to give Ratchet a hard time, especially when he made it so easy. A mischievous smile spread across his face, revealing just the tips of his fangs. “Always? Aww, Ratty! Are you saying that you had a crush on me since we first met?” 

“Oh, please.” Ratchet muttered, rolling his optics. “So what if I did?” 

“But- But-” His jaw dropped. Drift started out trying to tease Ratchet but now the energon rushed to his own cheeks. He had expected Ratchet to deny it and get all flustered. Maybe blush if he was lucky. That was their usual routine: Ratchet made a comment, Drift turned it into something weirdly personal or religious, Ratchet got wound up. He wasn’t used to Ratchet openly admitting to some deep emotion. 

“But nothing. Why do think I’m telling you all this? Because I’ve always cared about you. I felt something special for you when Optimus first brought you to me. It was unprofessional, so I did my best to ignore it even though it broke my spark to watch you walk out of my clinic. Then against all possible odds, we met again in the middle of a miserable war. I couldn’t believe it. This time, you saved my life. You worked so hard to get me to safety, to the point of injuring yourself, and in the end... In the end I just walked away.” 

“I remember that night. Vividly.” Drift nudged him with a gentle smile. Seeing Ratchet in so much pain made his own spark ache. He decided to use some of Ratchet’s distraction techniques against him. “Honestly, you weren’t ‘walking’ anywhere. In fact, I distinctly recall having to flag down a helicopter to carry you home.” 

“Right.” Ratchet’s shoulders shook as he huffed a quiet laugh, but when he turned to face Drift, tears shone in his optics. “We both knew that I couldn’t stay with you, but I wanted to ask you to come with me. My spark broke a little more with every step I took away from you. I went through a lot of pain that night, but turning my back on you hurt worst of all. A million different ways to ask ran through my mind. I could have chosen any one of them. Instead, I did nothing. You were right there in front of me, and I was too stubborn and afraid to ask.” 

“Afraid? What are you talking about? I know for a fact that nothing scares you. When we met the Guiding Hand, our ancient deities, you yelled at them.” 

“I was afraid that you’d say ‘no’. So, like a coward, I didn’t say anything. I’ve never been any good at emotional stuff. Since that night, I’ve really tried to get better. I told myself, if we ever met again, I wouldn’t make the same mistake. Even though I’ve worked hard, I’m still so bad at it.” Ratchet rubbed at his optics with one hand in a futile attempt to hide his obvious tears. “After Overlord, I almost lost you again. Honestly, I don’t know how you put up with me.” 

Ratchet looked up at Drift with the same slight smile that he offered him that night Alpha Bravo carried him away. At the time Drift thought it was the saddest thing he ever saw. His blue optics widened in realization of all the complicated emotions on display in Ratchet’s face. In the many years since they crossed paths on that Primus-forsaken battlefield, Drift had grown so much. Through his own experiences, especially under the tutelage of Wing, his empathy had increased significantly. Now he could see so much more than sadness in Ratchet’s wavering smile. There was guilt, shame, sorrow, and a characteristically stubborn hope. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Drift snuggled against Ratchet with a smile that he hoped radiated with all the warmth he felt in his spark. “It’s probably because you bring out the best in me.” 

“Don’t give me that rust wash,” Ratchet muttered. 

“But it’s true! Remember Hun-Garr?” 

“The two-headed monster bot with a dangerous appetite? How could I forget him?” 

“I would have killed him that night, if you weren’t there.” 

“I figured as much. That’s why I followed you. But you offered to help me rescue him on your own. I didn’t even have to ask. You had his rations increased too, completely on your own initiative. Of course, he was always hungry, but at least he didn’t have to scavenge corpses to ward off starvation.” 

“How do you know about that?” Drift asked, puzzled. After learning about Hun-Garr's secret mass displacement ability, he used his position as one of Megatron’s most trusted warriors to leverage a permanent increase in all the Terrorcons’ rations. But he never told anyone. 

“Hun-Garr told me. Believe it or not, he was serious about watching out for me. The Terrorcons pulled my fender out of the fire numerous times over the years. One time, I fell behind during a strategic retreat to made sure we didn’t lose anyone. A purple attack chopper transformed and dropped out of the sky to hold me at gun point. Before he could decide whether he wanted to shoot me or take me prisoner, Hun-Garr leapt over the rise and slammed into me. When I screamed in shock, he made a great show of pretending to eat me. The chopper looked like he wanted to purge his tanks and ran off in disgust. As soon as he disappeared, Hun-Garr wagged his tail, helped me up, and sent me on my way with a hug.” 

“I had no idea. And this type of thing happened more than once?” Drift never knew about the Terrorcons’ secret mission as Ratchet’s protection squad. Actually, once he convinced Megatron to recall all of his troops to the battle for Iacon, he didn’t see Hun-Garr very often. 

“Yep. I’ve got a whole collection of stories. Did you know that they could combine into a gestalt? Remind me to tell you about the time gigantic Abominus plucked me out of a mine field after I rushed in there to retrieve some of our wounded soldiers. Helping rescue Hun-Garr that night, getting him better rations, those were choices that you made all by yourself. Small acts of kindness that had a profound effect on someone else. And, in a roundabout way, protected me too.” 

Drift blinked. He never really thought about that before. Compared to all the destruction he caused, he never considered that the small good deeds carried any weight at all. Maybe he wasn’t as totally, irredeemably terrible as he thought. Then again, he did kill Fireflight without a second’s hesitation. 

“But... I killed him, Ratty.” Drift mumbled. 

“So you’ve said. Unfortunately, it’s not Misfire, and we’ve just established that it wasn’t Hun-Garr. Are you feeling a little more inclined to tell me who you are talking about?” 

“The orange flier.” Drift said quietly. If Ratchet was making the effort to bare his spark, then he owed him the same courtesy. “You said his name was Fireflight. He was dying, but not dead. You were in trouble and I didn’t care about him at all. I just aimed my sniper rifle and shot him.” 

“I know you did.” Ratchet stated, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. 

“How-” Drift stared at him. He never told anyone about that either. 

“I’m a doctor, remember. Proud recipient of the “It’s Pretty Good, I Guess” medal. I know what a well-aimed bullet does to a spark.” 

“But-” 

“Despite the armor modifications, I instantly recognized you from the Dead End. When you challenged that hulking brute that just tore my shoulder off and beat me half to death, I correctly figured that you were giving me an opportunity to escape. I hated that I couldn’t save Fireflight. I hated that you put yourself in danger for my sake. I hated that I was too injured to do anything other than ineffectively drag myself away so as not to waste your diversion. The whole situation was terrible.” 

“He didn’t deserve such treatment.” Guilt burned in Drift’s spark. 

“Of course not.” Ratchet squeezed his shoulder. “And I didn’t deserve to get the scrap kicked out of me. Hun-Garr didn’t deserve to be experimented on and live in a constant state of starvation. You didn’t deserve to serve as someone’s weapon of mass destruction.” 

“But I didn’t care about myself. All I ever cared about was you!” 

“Imagine that! And here, I thought you didn’t care about anyone or anything.” Ratchet leaned back and folded his arms, a smug grin plastered across his face. 

Drift blinked and huffed in disbelief. Ratchet got him again. Whenever bad memories plagued him, Ratchet would gradually talk him around to remembering something good about himself. That despite all the intense darkness, there was always a small light inside of him worth saving. It was absolutely true, too. He always cared about Ratchet, even when he thought he only had a great empty void where his spark should be. That love eventually grew into something that helped him become a better person. His engine rumbled and he started to laugh in spite of himself. 

“That’s better!” Ratchet chuckled. “Maybe I do bring out the best in you. After all, having you around has infinitely improved my life.” 

“Is that so?” Drift responded with a smirk. “I couldn’t tell.” They both struggled with so much regret already tonight. Thanks to Ratchet’s stubborn support, he was ready to set the pain aside for a while and nothing was more fun than antagonizing Ratchet. “I have something important to tell you!” 

“Hmm...” Ratchet eyed his mischievous smile with no small amount of skepticism. 

“The bad memory that bothered me during my recharge cycle was the exact same one that you just told me about.” 

“The night you saved me in the storm? That’s a strange coincidence.” 

“It’s no coincidence! It means our auras are completely in sync! We are sharing the same memories at the same time!” 

“Auras. Pfft!” Ratchet rolled his optics. His exasperated response set Drift to giggling. He couldn’t resist. Any talk of auras, energy, or anything remotely spiritual always got Ratchet wound up. In fact, he suspected Ratchet overacted on purpose because he knew Drift thought it was funny. He loved their playful sparring. 

“Actually,” Ratchet leaned heavily on Drift’s side, “I think you might be right! Drift! My aura, it’s compelling me.” He put more of his weight into his lean, causing Drift to slide towards the edge of the berth. His hand brushed against Drift’s side where he still had the patch made with a piece of Ratchet’s armor. Wriggling away from the ticklish spot, Drift burst into laughter and slipped off the berth, hitting the ground with a thud. 

Ratchet laughed and flopped down, stretching out lengthwise across their berth. He peered over the edge at Drift giggling on the floor. “My apologies! It seemed my aura just wanted the entire berth to itself.” 

“Auras don’t work that way,” Drift laughed. “But while, I’m down here, I might as well say a quick prayer. I think I know just the litany!” Drift knelt on the floor and propped his elbows on the edge of the berth. “Oh, Primus, the First Forged-” 

“Save me!” Ratchet muttered. He rolled his optics but his face lit up with a soft smile. 

“You have watched over us and kept us safe through long years of war,” Drift continued undeterred. A wicked grin spread across his face as he leaned more weight onto his elbows. The berth began to slowly tip towards him. 

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Ratchet started to slip 

“I thank you that despite our stubbornness,” Drift pushed down harder, tipping the berth at a more extreme angle, “You brought us together again at a time when we were both finally ready to find healing in each other’s arms.” 

"Amen!" With one final nudge, Drift nearly flipped the berth over. Ratchet tumbled towards him with a startled yelp. Drift easily caught him with a laugh and pulled him into a warm hug as he fell to the floor. 

“You are ridiculous!” Ratchet laughed. 

“And you love it!” Drift relished the familiarity of this situation, recalling the first time he felt this way, helping an injured Ratchet across a miserable battlefield. Ratchet’s comfortable weight on his side, the way his frame rumbled with laughter, the way it made his spark feel so light. 

“I love YOU.” Ratchet nuzzled his helm and Drift practically melted. “That being said, I am NOT spending the rest of the night on the floor wedged between our berth and the wall.” 

“Aww!” Drift whined, squeezing Ratchet a little tighter. “But it’s so cozy.” 

“If you wanted cozy, all you had to do was ask.” Ratchet easily scooped Drift up with one arm and used the other to brace against the wall as he struggled to his feet in the confined space. Drift chirped with surprise. It was so easy to forget Ratchet’s absurd strength. His mind flashed back to the memories of that night in the storm. He remembered waking up after Ratchet repaired his injuries from the exploding landmine with the hazy regrets that his missed out on being carried. The sensation of comfortable security surpassed anything he could have ever imagined. He snuggled into the medic’s embrace. 

Ratchet turned to set Drift back down, but he clung tightly to his frame. Groaning, Ratchet hopped back on to their berth with the contented speedster still cuddled in his arms. Drift’s engine purred. Although he hadn’t actually been trudging through the rain and mud all night, he felt exhausted. Reliving the memories was more traumatic than making them in the first place. 

“You never answered my question though,” Ratchet said quietly. He traced absent minded patterns on Drift’s back, still holding him close. 

“Now who’s wallowing?” Drift yawned. He nestled himself around Ratchet and contemplated how to respond. He remembered longing to stay by Ratchet’s side as he watched him walk away into the storm. On the other hand, if he really wanted something back in those days, nothing in the universe could have stopped him. He had changed so much through the years that his own name no longer fit him. So, he changed that too. “I don’t think that I can give you a proper answer. I’m not the same person I was back then and neither are you. I wanted to stay with you, but I had a lot of issues to work out. Even if you asked, I don’t know if I would have been ready to say ‘yes’.” 

“Fair enough.” Ratchet said sleepily. “I guess that’s a question that we’ll never know the answer to.” 

“Unless you want to ask Brainstorm if he has an extra time machine laying around.” 

“NO! No way!” Ratchet squeezed him like he might disappear any moment. “I’m not letting you go ever again! We’ve both worked too hard to get to this point. As long as you’re determined to put up with me, I wouldn’t risk what we have right now for anything.” 

“Me neither!” Drift vented out a long sigh and melted into Ratchet's embrace. He held him just as tightly to reassure his conjunx that he wasn’t going anywhere. He relished the steady rhythm of the medic's large engine and the warm strength of his arms. 

As their engines purred together in harmony, his high-pitched turbo chargers mingling with Ratchet’s low rumble, Drift smiled. As long as they had each other, everything else would take care of itself. Since joining Rodimus on his quest, he had discovered so many good things; in the universe and in himself. But right here, right now, together with Ratchet after so much struggle, was the BEST thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet calls Drift "kid." I've always read it in a _Casablanca_ sort of way. As something between two people who love each other, even though war may keep them apart. 
> 
> Here's looking at you, kid.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you for reading!
> 
> I appreciate your kudos and love reading your comments!!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at: lush-specimen.tumblr.com


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